Gluttony and Greed, Unpausing

It’s Easter. The weather is beautiful. I spent three or four hours walking around town and taking pictures. I covered Society Hill, Old City, South Street, the Italian Market, and the Asian community on 11th (I don’t know what they call the neighborhood). A majority of the shops, cafes, and restaurants were open for business as usual — along with the bars. Community is where you find it, I suppose, but boozing it up by noon on Easter Sunday? Get some ham in you first.

I would have stayed out walking longer, but my plantar fasciitis is in a union and threatened general strike amongst all the feet, so I acquiesced home to the sofa. Would you believe there was an Amazon delivery waiting on my doorstep? On Easter. I don’t want to sound like a communist crusader, but any capitalism that can’t resist hawking tchotchkes, mozzarella sticks, and watered-down whiskey on Easter morning doesn’t feel healthy to me. Erich Fromm finds it sus’ as well.

The walk was nice, at any rate. Now I’m drinking strong beer (it’s well into late afternoon as I write this) and preparing homemade hummus and boiled eggs for dinner. Sure, I could order a stromboli and one of those salads with the flavorless pink tomatoes, canned black olives, and exactly two pepperoncini on the side, but, I’m pretending I can’t get any of that goodness today, because a world where pizzerias are closed on major holidays is better for all of us in the long run.

Happy Easter.


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